Headstrong Hogwarts
by fourandahalfgiraffes
Summary: A halfblood, a blood-traitor, and a Muggle-born have become fast friends during their time at Hogwarts. Vee dreams of being an Auror, Charlie has his heart set on becoming a dragon handler, and Rosie simply wants to be accepted. But with impending O.W.L.s, troublesome boys and close-to-home-bigotry thrown into the mix, their final years at Hogwarts are going to be far from easy.


Jules Aurelius was unsettled. It was half past seven in the morning, and the house was already hectic, even by the family's standards.

His mother-in-law had thankfully turned up half an hour earlier and stepped in to help act as a peacekeeper between his three warring children. She was now sat beside her younger grandson at the kitchen table, serene and regal as ever in her emerald green sari.

"Can you not use that hocus pocus of yours to calm them down, Jules?" She asked, pouring them all a cup of tea.

"I can, Indira," he sighed. "But the ethics of it are a grey area."

He shuddered as there was another shout from his elder son upstairs.

"Get out of there, Vee! I need to use the bathroom."

He didn't hear his daughter's response - the sound of his wife's key in the door was enough to distract (and releive) him.

"Thank Merlin," he sighed as he skidded down the hallway. The front door swung open, and Chandra stepped into the doormat, tired, but smiling.

She stood up on her tiptoes to kiss her husband good morning. "Everything alright, darling?"

 _Vee's been sick with nerves in the bathroom all morning. Anthony's terrorising her. And Frankie, as always, is being good and totally overlooked because the other two are acting up. But you've been saving lives for the last twelve hours, so, by comparison, I've had a walk in the park compared to you._

"Absolutely fine, Chan."

They settled around the table after Chandra had greeted her mum and youngest offspring. Jules noted that the commotion from upstairs had quietened down, and a moment later Vee poked her head tentatively around the kitchen doorway. Her dark, curly hair was dishevelled and her tawny skin looked pale - and slightly green-tinged.

She drifted into the kitchen, unusually quiet, and bid her family good morning as her brother thundered down the stairs and rolled into the room.

"Mum, she's been in the bathroom _all_ morning! What's she been doing?"

"Girl stuff," spat Vee, taking pleasure from his disgusted look.

"She's nervous, Anthony," said Chandra wearily. "She gets sick, you know that."

Anthony rolled his eyes. "Why's it such a big deal?"

Jules sat beside him, and reached for the teapot."Your sister's taking two very hard exams a year early, and we want her hard work to have paid off. You might get the chance to do the same next year, Ant."

"What are the subjects again, darling?" Vee's grandmother asked.

"Arithmancy and Ancient Runes," Vee mumbled. She had taken up her post at the kitchen window and was scanning the sky for any sign of her owl.

Her father patted her on the shoulder. "Go and eat Wee Girl. A bit of toast might stop you from spewing again." With one eye still on the garden, Vee took a seat.

 _Hoo!_ Vee was on her feet before she had even looked to see what the sound was. She darted to the window, where three handsome barn owls were perched, each holding envelopes in their beaks. Frankie shot after her, jumping up and down in excitement at the prospect of his own letter.

Vee took her own letter, passed Frankie his, and tossed Ants across the table to him before tearing at her own.

"I'm going to Hogwarts!" Frankie squealed.

"We knew that nimrod," laughed Ant, tossing his letter aside with only a cursory glance.

His mother turned to Vee, gripping the back of her chair with white knuckles.

"What does it say, love?" She whispered.

Vee's mouth hung slack. She blinked at the letter, just one more time, just to be sure.

In Oxfordshire, the Fairweather family were settling down for breakfast in the village of Lower Piddling's pretty little vicarage.

 _Scratch scratch._ Mrs Fairweather stiffened as she slowly turned to the window, dreading what she might see.

"Oh!" Reverend Fairweather cooed. "What a marvellous creature!" Finally relenting, she looked round and gasped. A large barn owl was sat on their kitchen windowsill. Mrs Fairweather shot across the room and banged hard on the window, sending the owl flapping away across the garden. Rev. Fairweather placed his copy of _The Times_ aside, craning his neck to get a better view of the bird as it swooped off.

"You know, Rosie's friend Vee has a pet owl. I was talking to her father about it when we picked her up from the station Perhaps we could-"

Horrified, Mrs Fairweather whipped round, staring at his husband as she might if he had suddenly grown a second head. "We are _not_ getting our daughter an owl, Archie! Have you lost your mind? What would the neighbours think - owls everywhere? It's bad enough when that girl sends _hers_ here. At least she has enough sense to use the telephone now."

"Of course, of course..." he said quietly. "But what about the boy?"

"What boy?" His wife glared at him.

"The red haired boy. He's friends with her too - and from what Rosie said, he doesn't own a phone."

"No telephone?" Mrs Fairweather scowled. "We shouldn't be encouraging her to associate with people like that. Strange. So very strange. The girl is strange enough-"

"Now, now Evie - from what Rose has told me, that Vee's a good friend to her. And they do seem like such a nice family - the mother's a surgeon!"

Mrs Fairweather wrinkled up her nose. "That may be, but she's still-"

"Good morning!" Rosie stepped lightly into the room, fully dressed with her mousy brown hair pulled back into a lopsided French-plait.

"Don't you look lovely, dear," beamed her father.

"Who taught you to do that to your hair?" Mrs Fairweather asked sharply.

"Vee's friend Ade. He's _awfully_ good with hair. I don't think my attempt came out as well."

"No, it looks terribly wonky," said Mrs Fairweather, picking up her copy of _The Daily Mail,_ only to set it aside a second later. "What sort of a name is 'Ade'?"

"It's short for Adebayo, I think..." said Rosie, reaching for the toast.

"What- where on earth does he com-" _Taptaptap!_

The owl was knocking furiously at the window with its claws. Rosie couldn't be sure, but she thought that it looked rather angrily at her mother as she took the envelope from its beak.  
She skimmed the parchment as she ate the rest of her breakfast, and did her best to ignore her mother's interrogation of her father about Rosie's 'mysterious new friend.'

"Mummy?" Mrs Fairweather fell silent mid-rant. Rosie held up the letter to her. "I need new school things. Could I have my wand back, please? Vee's father said he would have a look at it for me - or I could take it to Mister Ollivander's to have it looked over."

Before Mrs Fairweather could muster a reply, or ask who on earth Mister Ollivander was, the sound of the phone ringing echoed through the hallway. Rosie broke into a grin and dived across the room, making her mother wince in her seat.

"I'll bet that's Vee! She must have her exam results!"

Reverent Fairweather buried his face behind his newspaper, shielding himself from the venomous, probing stare emanating from his wife. A few minutes of silence later, their daughter skipped back into the room, humming.

"Vee's going to Diagon Alley today to get her school supplies," she said cheerily. "Can I go too?"

"Not today," said Mrs Frairweather. "I have a WI meeting I simply can't miss."

Rosie's father set his paper down again. "I could take you after Bible study, love. Won't be til this afternoon mind, if that's alright with you."

"It's okay, Dad," Rosie smiled. "Vee said I can go with her family if you're busy."

Her mother chuckled. "And how on earth are you going to get to London by yourself, Rosalyn?"

"It's okay before we left school she gave me some Floo Powder." The smile on Rosie's face dropped like a stone as her mother's head jerked around.

"She gave you some _WHAT_!?"

Molly sighed as she scanned the three pieces of parchment spread across the kitchen table.

Three lists of new supplies. More money to be spent. Her mind whirred as she made the calculations. The eldest would need new books, there was not getting around that - well, new in the second-hand sense. He had got taller too, but with some savvy, Molly knew that she could drop the hems on his uniform - hopefully enough to hide the lanky boy's heavily darned socks.

The second was a different case altogether. Two years younger than the eldest, he had grown too: upwards _and_ outwards. The boy was far from fat, rather, he was broad and newly strong following a cumbersome teenage growth spurt. He'd need new shirts - and his trousers mended. _How_ he managed to shred the knees the way he did, she would never know.

The third...three years younger than the next oldest. The biggest age gap of any of them. He hadn't quite grown, but she knew it would happen - and it would happen soon. She could feel it, he would be like his father: tall and skinny. Molly could prepare - buy the trousers too big and hem them within an inch of their life. They should last. As for books, he could have the eldest's old ones. That would do. Molly sighed. He was so good. She only wished that she could do better for him.

 _No._ She corrected herself sharply. _They're_ all _good._

"Morning Mum!" Molly snapped out of her daze. Charlie wandered in, rubbing his eyes. He sported an old Quidditch t-shirt which was now so small that it exposed most of his midriff.

 _"Must_ you walk around in your pants, Charlie?" Molly sighed.

 _"'S_ too hot Mum," he yawned. He planted a kiss on top of his mother's head as he strode past.

"Tea?"

"Not too hot for tea, though," Molly tutted.

"I'll take that as a yes," he chuckled, lifting the heavy iron kettle with ease onto the fire. "Oh just a warning, Fred and George were asking me about the ghoul last night."

"Oh Merlin, why?" Molly placed her head in her hand. No wonder she couldn't sleep.

"Dunno," shrugged Charlie. "That's what bothers me." He placed a steaming mug of sweet, milky tea on top of the letters. "But don't fret, I've got an eye on them. So does Bill."

"Thank you, dear. You're a good boy."

Charlie stopped dead beside the hearth.

"Are you feeling alright, Mum?" He turned slowly to his mother, who was so deeply engrossed again in her letters that she didn't hear him.


End file.
